Enough silliness, how about a poem?

one of my favorites. dedicated to the women here.

I Knew a Woman
by Theodore Roethke


I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in a chorus, cheek to cheek).

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proferred hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant notes to sieze;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways).


This is sort of the opposite of 'My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun'.
Every part of her is idealized beyond realism. But isn't that how love feels?

I also love the last three lines of this t.s.eliot poem

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Nice to see some intellectual thought on this forum, suckseed. I like that poem.

Here is my top poem.

Jenny Kissed Me
by Leigh Hunt

Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in.
Time, you thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in.
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad;
Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I'm growing old, but add-
Jenny kissed me!

Other romantic favourites of mine include WB Yeats' beautiful "He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven", Elizabeth Browning's "How do I love thee", and Christina Rosetti's "Remember Me". I think you might enjoy Lord Byron's "She Walks in Beauty". However, for sheer power, darkness and depth, you can't beat Baudelaire, even in translation. The poem below is called "Tout Entière" and is from his collection "Fleurs Du Mal" or "Flowers of Evil". May I dedicate this to the fair ladies on these pages also?

All of her
by Charles Baudelaire
based on trans. by Peter Dale

In my high room at morning light
The devil came to call on me.
And keen to find what fault he might
He said: "Now I should like to see,
Of all the beauties that impose
The binding power of her spell,
Among the dark, amid the rose
That make her charming form excel,
Which is the sweetest?" - O my soul,
You answer the detested foe:
Since all in her is perfect, whole,
No touch exceeds another so.

When all delights me I can't say
Which feature has allured me quite.
She dazzles like the break of day
And she consoles me like the night.

Too exquisite the harmony is
That in her lovely form holds sway;
For powerless analysis
To hear the many concords play.

O mystic metamorphosis
How all my senses in one fuse!
Her very voice makes fragrances,
Just as her breath becomes my muse!'

My favorite poem

To His Coy Mistress, by Andrew Marvel

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run


Felicia

Never had a favorite poem just a lymeric or two (You know the man from Nantucket.......) but quality post I applaud you for it my friend.